Gretta? Where are you?
Ily Takka lounged in the command chair as her military cruiser slid into formation with the Regan vessels orbiting Targa. Occasional flickers of violet laced the surface of the planet below. Studying the fleet, Ily could make out the slivers of projectiles accelerating away from the ships and heading planetward.
"War?" Ily asked. "Targa is still that hot?" She pressed a stud. "Comm, get me the commanding vessel."
Within seconds, a craggy female face filled the screen. Behind the elderly woman, the bridge crew could be seen as they coordinated the attack. A slight quiver twitched the corner of the Regan Commander's mouth, flint eyes hardening slightly with recognition.
"Identify yourself," Ily ordered.
"Commander Rysta Braktov of the Imperial Cruiser Gyton at your service, Lord Minister."
"Looks like a battle is in progress, Commander." Ily cocked her head. "I had heard the situation here was slowly coming together."
The Commander nodded. "The Targan rebellion is over. However, we have a slight problem with troop discipline. Rebellion on Targa, it seems, is catching."
"Sinklar Fist?"
"You know, then. Is that why Internal Security has picked this opportunity to grace us with a visit?" Rysta's politeness extended only to the questioning glint in her eye.
"It is, Commander." Ily smiled. "Could you please update me concerning the situation?"
Rysta nodded graciously, but her gaze could have
scratched glass. "I would be happy to. You have arrived at the tail end of the action, I'm afraid. Yesterday at 15:00 hours we dropped five Divisions
on Targa. Within the last planetary day we have consolidated compounds and are at the point of sending out Sections to locate and destroy the mutineers."
Ily paused, lingering her chin. What does this mean? Could it be that following Sinklar Fist is simply another Riparian swamptoad chase? Fruitless? Is he really no more than an accident?
"I see. Then you must have already inflicted heavy casualties on Fist's Divisions."
Rysta hesitated, an oddly sour twist to her thin lips. "We are satisfied My Lord Minister."
And the hesitation? "Commander, what, if you would be so kind, is your body count?"
"Lord Minister, you, of all people, know the importance of proper channels. I have forwarded that information to the Lord Minister of Defense, who will no doubt be happy to—"
Ily held up her escutcheon. "Commander, I believe you are familiar with the Imperial jessant-de-lis? Ah, yes, I can see from your expression that you are."
"I…" Rysta swallowed, demeanor crumbling. "I'd never thought to see such a'thing, Lord Minister."
"Your casualty count Commander?"
Rysta Braktov turned to her control comm and began accessing information through her headset. A grimness puckered the wrinkled skin around her mouth. She nodded finally and looked up. "My Lord Commander, we can verify one hundred and thirty casualties from Fist's forces."
Ily rested her chin on her palm. One hundred and thirty? So few after a concerted assault from five Divisions— assuredly good ones at that? Perhaps I don't face disaster after all. "And your casualties Commander?"
Braktov didn't hesitate — although her voice dropped. "Four hundred and thirty-three Lord Minister."
Ily played long fingernails over her chin. "And I take it you have effectively crushed Fist's forces at such Pyrrhic costs?"
Rysta worked her jaws before stating, "Most definitely. Ther command structure is fragmented. Individual Sections
are isolated. and they are broken into yet smaller Groups which have no tactical cohesion. Fist's people are no more than a disorganized rabble. We only need time to sweep them up and centralize them for deportation and military justice."
"Excellent." Ily paused. "I have one condition, Commander. You will bring me Sinklar Fist — alive."
A shadow of relief crossed Rysta's face. "Gladly, Lord Minister. We shall have him for you shortly."
"The other thing which cannot be tolerated is the possibility of an accident." Ily made a gesture with her hand. "Personnel on the ground get carried away in the heat of passion. Sometimes they don't realize that higher stakes than their own vengeance might be in the balance. Do you agree?"
"I believe I understand."
"Then please reassure your ground forces that the Minister of Internal Security will personally deal with anyone who, shall we say, allows Fist to be killed 'accidentally,' hmm?" Ily studied the woman through lowered lids.
"He shall be delivered to you alive." Rysta's eyes glittered with pent up irritation.
"See that he is." Ily broke the connection.
She ran the spikelike nail of her index finger over the smoothness of her teeth. Pray to the Rotted Gods I am not wrong about you, Fist! If I am, my best bet is to take my cruiser, my jessant-de-lis, and run for Sassa! My life will be worth little with Staffa kar Therma and Tybalt after me.
Chapter 25
Sinklar shook his head to clear the fatigue from his ragged mind. Through the hidden LC's monitors, he'd watched the sun rise and set twice. And no word had come from Gretta. He arched up against the cushioned resistance of the LC command chair to ease the ache where the muscles in his back had knotted. During the long hours he had spent huddled here, men and women — his men and women — had fought for their lives. The small control cubicle had become a ceramic and steel prison. The comm equipment flashed with warning lights and requests for input. He had coordinated the entire resistance from this same cramped command chair. Through the forward view ports, he could see the first rays of light graying the windows of the brick fac tory where they hid. '
"All right, Mac." Sinklar rubbed his jaw and felt stubble. "Now's as good as ever. Go for it. Draw them out; play decoy."
"Affirmative," MacRuder's voice came back — a reflection of tingling nerves and uncertainty. "Sink? Just in case. Take care, huh? If you make it out, tell my folks how I bought it. And Sink?"
"Yeah?"
Mac's voice softened. "You've been the best, old buddy. The Blessed Gods keep you. All my love to Gretta. If I miss the wedding. drink one for me. First Section, clear."
"My best to you, too," Sinklar whispered, part of his mind numb at the risks being taken by people he cared about. He attempted the insane! During the sow and tenuous process of reestablishing communications with his scattered Sections, the plan had come to him — a thin nonsensical thing inconceivable in light of the Holy Gawddamn Book.
A straw in the wind, they chased it — though their path ran between Death's teeth. So many would die.
// only Gretta were here to tell me its all right.
"Kitmon?" Sink asked, pulling his shredded concentration together. "Are you ready to hit the fifth Etarian?"
"Affirmative. We've been scrambling channels to keep them baffled, but their jamming beams seem to be working out our relays. When they get around to jamming us completely, we've got mining lasers set up. We'll be using them so we can keep communications control with dots and dashes. It'll be tight, but I think we can fool them."
"Sounds good. You know the situation better than I do. Take your best shot. Fire at will." Sinklar picked up his cup of stassa and drained it to the last nourishing drop. When had it gotten so cold?
How long since I slept last? I've got five millimeters of stubble on my cheeks and someone poured a half a ilo of sand in my eyes. I need you with me, Gretta. I've never done this alone before. If anything's happened to you, they'll pay, and pay, and pay… He closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath.
He forced himself to blink away the ache in his eyes in order to study the cramped monitor on the LC bridge. Time to check on the fighting up by the Raktan mines. "Hauws? Status report?"